A few days before my big trip back to Montana, a man and his two grown sons were shot to death in their cars on my street corner in San Francisco. The motive was determined to be road rage. That 4-way stop is a particularly frustrating one located on the way up an unkempt hilly street lined with cars.

This episode so close to my house made my obervations while driving back to Montana particularly poignant. It was amazing how, when I reached about Pocatello going north, how remote a possibility road rage seemed. Life and traffic just seemed to slow down, and I observed people actually looking me in the eye from their cars. If anything, these perfect strangers began to go out of their way to yield to me in traffic, smiling and waving me forward, even out-of-turn. Driving became a pleasant experience, almost a way of interacting socially, like making small talk in a grocery store.

Having spent over 1.5 years in a city has certainly given me another perspective, and I have to say that there is nothing like the small-town friendliness that I grew up with. Those that say life in Northern California will make you soft have probably never spent time in the true “North”.

Ahhh, Home Sweet Home.